you and you and you, characters from a storybook faerytale

but f-ck this, 
the sting on my hip
and the creak of my knees
and how my teeth knock in the night

because i'm not a marionette
and i'm also not some sort of automaton
so i'm done. 

i'm f-cking done with this
but i'll keep going anyways

with people who crunch diamonds in their fists, 
carve shards of glass into their nailpolish
and scream like there's nothing to lose

and i know, i know, 
i've taken the poet's route of description
but i'm a little past caring
and a ways off into boredom

so here we go, 
to the girl with the fire in her hair, 
knuckles printed with her anger, 
and voice soaked in nitroglycerin 

and the other, 
hands that reach to skyscrapers
with matchstick limbs
and short brown hair against the thick coffee of her eyes
she is beautiful
even if she has yet to hear it
and she is sad, sad and upset and just like me 

then there's the others, 
milky skin that swims in despair, 
long black strands streaming down her back 
hands that wring at the wrists 
and yes, this an amalgamation of people, 
a mashed-up mix

because the girl whose head holds night has darker flesh
and she whose fingers twist rhythms in the air possesses eyes the size of saucers

and i don't know exactly how i came to know them,
broken pieces clashing and teeth gnashing, 
scraping against each other like we've got everything to lose
and maybe we don't

but they're mine, 
and i'm theirs, 
and perhaps one day we won't have to mourn each other. 

The End

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